


Places We Won't Be Found

by illyriazshell



Series: The Honeymoon Interludes [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Memory Palace, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Finale, glorified phone sex basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 14:31:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5874190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyriazshell/pseuds/illyriazshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Hannibal traveling and Will on his own for a short while, both rediscover yet another way they can continue to blur.</p><p>Easily stands as a one-shot, but makes more sense as a follow up to my post-finale fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4791848/chapters/10966493">As Long As We're Going Down</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Places We Won't Be Found

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring this aspect of their relationship has been suggested by a few commenters and now seemed like the best time for it. Whew! It turned out far fluffier than I originally intended! Are these two making me soft? 
> 
> (Nope! I am simply storing up reserves of angst to be unleashed in a later installment >:)
> 
> Enjoy! ^_^

Will’s breath fogged in the crisp, early morning air as dawn crept over the horizon, sunlight slowly breaking through the mountain range painted against a gradually lightening sky.

Sitting on the porch, pyjama bottoms tucked into thick boots and a heavy wool jacket thrown overtop his thin cotton sweater, Will’s hands clasped the circumference of his mug to soak in its warmth before bringing it to his mouth to sip the rich, dark coffee.

He licked his lips, trying to assess the taste with his admittedly unrefined palette. Not as good as Hannibal would have made it; Will was sure he’d left out some unknown blend, or secret spice, or just left the pot boiling a half minute too long. But he’d done fine, considering. It would get the job done.

He reflected on how luxury had become the default while he’d been in Hannibal’s company. He never would have noticed the absence of such flourishes in his previous life.

Now, the absence of things he had become accustomed to was all Will could think about.

As if on cue, a distinct vibration began emanating from the pocket of Will’s jacket. He placed his coffee on the frozen table beside him and fished out a phone, linked to a number known by only one other person.

“Good morning, Doctor.” Will didn’t bother to hide his eagerness.

“Good morning, Will,” came the reply. “You sound surprisingly…lucid.”

Will wasn’t a particularly late sleeper, but Hannibal was such an early riser that on most days he felt lackadaisical by comparison. He shifted in his chair, propping his phone between his cheek and shoulder, his tone mockingly boastful. “I’ve actually been awake for a few hours.”

“Bad dreams?” Hannibal asked, sounding more intrigued than concerned. As usual. “Trouble sleeping?”

“No,” Will grunted, biting back the admission that he’d woken several times throughout the night because their shared bed had felt uncomfortably empty. “I simply realized it had been too long since I’d watched the sun rise.”

“Wonders never cease,” Hannibal said brightly, choosing not to challenge him. “I confess, this call was meant to rouse you. I would not see you become useless in my absence.”

“One might argue that I’ve become so in your presence,” Will teased. He reached over to grab his mug and took another quick sip of his coffee. “First breakfast I’ve made for myself in nearly a year and it was quite the struggle.”

“I have spoiled you,” Hannibal mused. “Perhaps this time apart will at least allow us to each rebuild a small semblance of self-reliance.”

“Sure,” Will snorted. “Calling under false pretenses because you can’t stand to go even 24 hours without hearing my voice will certainly help with that.”

“Ahh, the delightful resonance of your ridicule,” Hannibal sighed. “A symphony in contrast to the brash cacophony of an overcrowded train platform.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad from this end,” Will noted.

“The train just cleared the station,” Hannibal replied. “I would not have our conversation interrupted by high-pitched whistling. Or other audible distractions.”

“Do you have the compartment to yourself?” Will queried, biting his cheek in a wry grin. As if he had to ask.

“There was a rather boisterous young American woman I was assigned to share it with,” Hannibal answered with thinly veiled irritation. “Unusual for someone her age not to prefer the solitude of her smartphone. An inconsiderate behaviour plaguing her generation, certainly. But still of a lesser rudeness than badgering a stranger with an endless string of inappropriate personal queries. Alas, something in her tea must have made her rather ill and, at the last moment, she decided not make the journey after all.”

“Pity,” Will grinned as he pictured the exchange. A young twenty-something, completely oblivious she’d sauntered into a lion’s den, covered in blood and banging a pot with a wooden spoon. She would have been lucky to make it off that train with her life. He wondered what Hannibal had inconspicuously spiked her drink with, figuring it was probably non-lethal to avoid drawing unwanted attention. “I’m sure you could’ve used the company, given you’ll be spending a week on your own.”

“Were you so inclined, I would happily meet you at my destination and aid in adding new additions to your impeccably stocked closet.” Hannibal was clearly still hopeful, but did not press. They couldn’t travel together anyway, and Will’s interest in making that journey alone for the sake of fashion was minimal at best. “As it is, I will simply enjoy the privacy and imagine you are here, sat opposite me.”

Will closed his eyes, picturing the same.

No longer was he seated outside on a wooden chair at sub-zero temperatures, but on a cushioned bench, regulation grey and red striped fabric lining both sides of the small compartment. He looked out the window, past the red velvet curtains, to the quintessential European countryside whizzing past. The constant clicking over the tracks became more of a soothing vibration than anything audible, and Will sunk lower into his seat.

He turned away from the window, unsurprised to see that Hannibal had materialized opposite him, studying him curiously from beneath wire-rimmed sunglasses and a simple tweed cap. Will watched as Hannibal removed the disguise to reveal his sandy-grey hair and warm eyes, grinning as he gave Will a pointed once-over.

Will glanced down, seeing that instead of flannel pyjamas bottoms and a thick wool coat, he was suddenly outfitted in a crisp white button-down underneath well-tailored blue-grey suit. A clean, elegant look, and one that just so happened to be a favourite of Hannibal’s.

“Given the boundlessness of imagination,” Will noted, looking around, “I’m surprised you wouldn’t envision us traveling together on our own private jet.”

“Even though our situation is disappointingly limited when it comes to air travel,” Hannibal conceded, crossing one leg over the other and folding his hands on his knee. “I do find travelling by rail has its own charms. I enjoy watching the landscape gradually shift throughout the journey, the relative ease with which we are able to cross boarders, and, of course, the privacy of the spacious compartments.”

“Yeah,” Will chuckled, remembering how cramped it had become on the way back after Christmas. “If I recall, spacious enough to transport an entire wardrobe worth the down-payment on our southern home.”

Hannibal did not take the bait, responding seamlessly with, “Or spacious enough to justify not checking into baggage a suitcase containing the maimed corpse of a failed-poet-turned-extortionist.”

Will’s brow furrowed for a moment and his mind was temporarily pulled from the train compartment. Having satisfied his desire to see the sunrise, he gathered himself out of the chair, mug in hand, before walking down the long porch to let himself inside their mountainside chalet.

He kicked off his boots, tossing his jacket onto a nearby chair. He searched his mental repertoire of old Ripper case-files for something resembling that description and came up with nothing, but _poet_ was still pinging something in him. He recalled every victim chronicled in the papers after Hannibal had been captured, all the speculation in both Chilton’s and Freddie Lound’s best-sellers, and still couldn’t place it.

“Wait,” he said finally, the ghost sensation of a hand on his shoulder in a crowded lecture hall sparking his memory. “You killed Anthony Dimmond in Florence?”

“Of course,” was the unabashed reply. “Were I to have done it in Palermo, I would’ve had to invest in an oversized portable cooler or the meat would have spoiled.”

“How practical of you, ” Will laughed. “I clearly still have much to learn.”

He flicked on the electric fireplace and hit the button on his phone that wirelessly synced their call to their surround-sound speakers. Sliding onto their most comfortable couch, he placed the phone on the coffee table in front of him, leaving both hands free to clasp his rapidly cooling mug.

“Do you wish we visited the Norman Chapel before we announced our survival to the world?” Will asked the empty room as he leaned back into the sofa, getting situated. “It would be impossible to travel there now.”

“Yes, good Uncle Jack will have made sure our faces are known to every resident and visitor until the day we are apprehended. Or presumed dead.” Hannibal spoke without a hint of bitterness. “But I have no regrets. After all, I have already been there with you many times.”

Will relaxed somewhat as he listened to Hannibal, his voice filling up the living room at an unobtrusive volume. It almost sounded like he was there with Will, beside him. That warmed Will more thoroughly than the fire flickering in front of him. Closing his eyes, crossing one leg over the other, he let the feeling come to life.

Expecting the sofa beneath him to stiffen as it shifted into dense train cushions, Will was surprised when the softness disappeared altogether, replaced by the distinct discomfort of a hard, wooden chair. The heat from the fireplace shifted into bright sunlight, its warmth shining down on the left side of his face.

Taking a moment to gain his bearings, he slowly opened his eyes and found himself sitting in the front row of the Norman Chapel, entirely empty except for the man sitting to his right, across the aisle.

Will pursed his lips. “Meeting in the foyer of your memory palace is not the same as travelling to the location that inspired it.”

He turned slowly to take in the sight of Hannibal; sitting in a crossed-legged position that mirrored Will’s own, wearing a light-grey checkered suit, his face shaved and hair short. Like it had been in their old lives. Will smirked as he looked between the two of them; they were both dressed in their Sunday best.

“I should know,” Will continued haughtily, “I had to sail across an ocean to do the latter.”

Hannibal’s eyelids finally fluttered open, and Will watched with amusement as Hannibal took in their surroundings, grinning knowingly as he did so. Standing from his own chair, Hannibal walked forward, absently crossing the skull graven in the floor to climb the steps. He turned to face Will.

“I have gone to great lengths to ensure the rooms in my memory palace are as accurate as possible,” Hannibal announced, spreading his arms proudly, wordlessly taking credit for the flawless mental reproduction. “My mind is not as effortlessly imaginative as yours, but once a room has been constructed, its foundation is solid. My senses interpret my imagined presence in my palace to be as authentic as if I were in the physical world. Sometimes, even more so.”

Hannibal did not need to turn around and show him the Verger brand to illustrate his point. He’d told Will long ago how he had managed to painlessly endure it being seared into his back.

“What we know to be reality is only a projection our perception, and we need only tinker with our perceptions to suit our needs. In doing so, we can reclaim the dominion of our own reality from God.”

Will tilted his head amusedly, taking in the image of Hannibal on a raised platform, preaching his philosophy as he overlooked a church. Such utter blasphemy, and yet somehow entirely fitting. Will considered him; in his light suit, the sunlight shining down behind him and providing the illusion of an otherworldly glow, Hannibal looked less like a man of God and more like the deity being worshiped.

All the same, Will raised his hands in mock praise. “Hallelujah.”

Hannibal’s face brightened, taking it in good humour as he eyed Will curiously.

“There are many more spaces in our palaces than the shared foyer,” he said, holding a hand outwards to Will. “Have you never wondered which other rooms overlap?”

“Only in passing,” Will rose, walking slowly forward but still several paces from Hannibal’s reach. He slipped his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “No need to meet in the seclusion of our shared conscious when I have unfettered access to you in the real world”

“On most days,” Hannibal retorted, extending his hand further the closer Will inched towards him. “But as today has proven, we may not always have that luxury.”

Will was reminded of his earlier musings on becoming accustomed to the luxuries he shared with Hannibal. One day, one or both of them may be captured, and they would surely be denied access to each other. Will couldn’t imagine surviving that now without maintaining some connection to Hannibal, real or imagined. Perhaps it _was_ wise to expand the ways in which they’d blurred to include this technique as well.

Will believed there was more to this exercise than tracing a Venn Diagram of their cherished memories, but he said nothing to indicate his suspicion. The sight of Hannibal, decked out in his signature three-piece ensemble and openly inviting him deeper into the dark recesses of his mind, gave Will more than enough inspiration to indulge.

Will playfully grabbed Hannibal’s outstretched arm and pulled him forward, positioning them both so they stood overtop the skull. He placed Hannibal’s hand on his hip and reached for the back of the other man’s neck, bringing their lips together in a heated, sensuous kiss. Twisting their heads, Will’s tongue plunged into Hannibal’s mouth, the imagined taste of him more authentically overwhelming than what he remembered in real life.

As the two men stood in broad daylight, kissing in the memory of a church, Will wondered why the flavour of Hannibal was so rich, vivid and detailed with tastes he couldn’t name. Was he somehow imagining how _Hannibal_ imagined Will would experience the kiss?

Will’s head swam with the possibility; even with Hannibal pressed up against him in reality, Will’s empathy had not been able to recreate Hannibal’s impossibly refined palette. His taste-buds simply weren’t wired that intricately. Whatever form of empathy he was currently experiencing was decidedly new, and Will’s blood rushed with the thrill of it.

Perhaps Hannibal was on to something about reality shifting to their perceptions.

Will pulled back, blinking up at Hannibal with an excited grin. He hummed. “I am curious to find out what lies beyond the foyer.”

“You need only ask.” Hannibal smiled knowingly, stepping back to reveal their change in location.

Will twisted in place, scanning to assess whether his latest memory matched what he was seeing surround him. The only noticeable difference was that the books and pages that had littered the floor were gone, back in their place, tucked into the shelves on the second floor, as if they had never been discarded and burned. The room was presented as it had been on the day he’d told Hannibal to reveal himself to Jack. When Will had promised to run away with him.

Will smiled. He couldn’t find a single fault in the reconstruction.

“I haven’t been in your office since we were last there, together,” Will said, moving through the vast space with delicacy and reverence. “After you fled, I stayed away, only visiting in my thoughts, dreams and nightmares. Even after the investigation into Dolarhyde led us back to it, I opted out.”

“Why?” Hannibal asked, exploring the room at his own pace, watching Will the entire time. “Afraid you might still discover monsters lurking in dark corners?”

“No,” Will said, turning to lean against the desk, gripping the edge and feeling the solid wood beneath him. “Your office was where I could finally see the monster in the clear light of day. Where I could contemplate that perhaps I was a monster as well. Where I could verbalize the sins of my becoming without fear of judgement.”

“A sanctuary,” Hannibal’s lips quirked at this as he strolled along the far wall, painted red as red could be, obscured in the darkness beneath the second floor balcony. He picked up a book off the shelf and opened it, grinning, clearly pleased at whatever he read there. “Curious that you did not seek it out when you perhaps needed it most.”

“What good is a confessional without anyone to listen?” Will said, huffing and crossing his arms.

Hannibal closed the book and strode across the room, standing before him. Will leaned back harder against the desk and Hannibal straddled him while standing. Hannibal looked down at Will intently, reaching a hand out to cup his jaw. Instantly, Will’s residual feelings of abandonment melted away.

“I will always be there to hear you, dear Will,” Hannibal cooed, intent on alleviating his fears. “No matter where we are or what separates us, my office will be open to you.”

“I suppose that’s always been true.” Will sighed, tingling with the sensation of Hannibal’s thumb brushing against his cheek. “You never did mind me barging in unannounced, babbling on about some case, tossing my coat wherever I liked and thumbing through your possessions without even asking permission.”

Will cocked his head to the side.

“Quite tolerant of you to excuse such discourtesy. Imagine if I’d been so bold as to interrupt a session with _another_ patient.”

“I often did imagine just that,” Hannibal laughed. “During my more tedious appointments, my mind often wandered as far as I could allow while maintaining an air of professionalism. Before we met, I would retreat into my palace and compose. Symphonies, extravagant dinners, elaborate tableaus; anything to distract from the mundane mutterings of a garden variety manic depressive.”

“But once you were charged with my mental health, you had a new hobby to occupy your thoughts.”

“Indeed,” Hannibal ruminated, “I envisioned countless scenarios between us that took place in my office. Ones that regrettably never came to pass.”

“Oh,” Will bit his lip. He’d imagined scenarios too, but at the time, almost all of them ended with Hannibal dead by his hands. Hannibal’s daydreams had likely featured more variety. “Such as?”

Hannibal let out a small groan as his eyes flicked to Will’s lips. Will felt the grip on his cheek tighten as Hannibal pressed forward, running his free hand up Will’s thigh.

“It would take a lifetime to recount every one,” Hannibal said, his voice a low rumble. It seemed that obstacle wasn't going stop him from trying. “You delivering on your promise of a reckoning and the ensuing struggle that would surely erupt between us. Sometimes it would end with you at my mercy and I would demonstrate how benevolent I could be. Often it ended with me at your mercy, and you would show me none.”

Will whimpered at the thought, eyelids fluttering closed his knuckles tightening against desk as his arousal stirred within him.

Hannibal leaned forward, cheeks brushing as he whispered into Will’s ear. “Or you might burst into my office, on the edge of a breakdown, dishevelled and helpless and oh-so-beautifully breakable. And you would beg for my help. For my touch to keep you grounded. For my hands to hold you together even as I was covertly breaking you apart.”

Will’s breath hitched and he couldn’t hold back, his hands moving to Hannibal’s waist and pulling him closer, their bodies pressed together and their twin erections growing flush against each other.

“You fantasized me even more pliant than you found me, than you made me,” Will echoed, his voice needy and breathless. “I was already clay you had seen fit to reshape in your image, raw material for your greatest composition, your magnum opus. And yet even then you still wanted to hear me ask.”

He cupped the larger man’s behind as Hannibal ground their hardness together, egging each other on. They both panted and groaned as they moved against each other, Will only managing to stay upright thanks to Hannibal’s body pinning him in place.

“I wanted to hear you _beg_ as much as I needed for you to just _take_ ,” Hannibal said, nearly a growl. “For your savagery to grow so great that you might actually interrupt a session and kill one of those tedious patients in front of me, punishing them for daring to distract me from thoughts of you.  I wished to witness you at the peak of your radiance, feral and insatiable and blinded by your bloodlust, unable to contain it when your attention finally turned back to me.”

As Hannibal described it, Will saw it play out over Hannibal’s shoulder. His doppelganger brandishing a knife, now dripping with the blood of a faceless man at his feet, as the Hannibal not currently pressed against him reclined in his therapy chair, watching him with rapt attention.

The animalistic urges that coursed through Will’s mirror image found their way through his own bloodstream. Suddenly he was pushing Hannibal off him as he leapt off the desk. Will grabbed the lapels of Hannibal’s jacket and brought him in again for a bruising, hungry kiss, Hannibal taking it eagerly and returning it in kind.

Will spun them both and pressed Hannibal against the edge of the desk, breaking the kiss to lick and bite and tease the underside of Hannibal’s throat, threading his fingers into Hannibal’s hair and pinning his waist in place so he could rut shamelessly against him.

“Your scenarios were so goddamn elaborate.” Their faces level as they rocked against each other, Will nibbled Hannibal’s lip before he cocked his eyebrow and asked, “You ever just fantasize me simply waltzing in, bending you over your desk and fucking you raw?”

Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, Hannibal shuddered at Will’s words. “Every day since I first laid eyes on you.”

Will grinned, unable to suppress the immense, dark pride and satisfaction that flared in his chest. The hand at Hannibal’s waist moved to the front of his trousers, unhooking Hannibal’s belt and swiftly pulling down his fly. Will reached inside to pull out Hannibal’s hard length, as heavy and firm and thick with veins as he knew it to be in real life. He began stroking Hannibal smoothly, practised but with a quick fervour, grip tightening in Hannibal’s hair as Will’s ministrations drew lovely moans from him.

“Christ,” Will bit out, feeling every stroke he lavished on Hannibal’s cock reverberate through his own. His empathy rarely had him experiencing everything _this_ intense, _this_ quickly, and Will felt himself teetering on the edge of release.

He pulled his hand free before they both lost themselves completely, tugging at Hannibal’s hair and forcing him to face the other way. Will crowded up against Hannibal’s back, bending his spine into arch so Will could lean in to whisper in his ear.

“It’s a shame you never suggested it in session,” Will teased, his free hand shoving down Hannibal’s pants, exposing Hannibal’s bare ass to Will’s still-clothed hardness. Hannibal, for his part, seemed more than willing to just let Will manipulate him however he saw fit. “I likely would have found the exercise highly therapeutic.”

Will shoved Hannibal down onto the desk then, pinning his clothed upper body against the study wood with the strength of his forearm. He licked the index and middle finger of his free hand, covering them in barely enough spit to provide lubrication. He reached between the joining of their bodies to circle Hannibal’s hole, feeling the pucker shudder and contract eagerly with his needy touch.

Before too long, Will sunk his fingers inside, groaning when the tight heat enveloped him as he stroked Hannibal in rough preparation. He crooked his fingers downward, pressing into the soft nub of Hannibal’s prostate and was rewarded with a satisfied cry that he soon matched, the sensation reverberating inside him.

Will panted into the fabric of Hannibal’s suit jacket, just at the base of his shoulder blade, trying to find his bearings as his fingers finally slid free. Even with his assumed dominance over Hannibal, in the fevered haze of this imagined place, Will could feel his control slipping away.

Still bent over the body beneath him, Will finally undid his own pants, reaching up to lick his palm before slicking up his throbbing length. He guided his cock into the crevice of Hannibal’s ass, pressing slowly but unyieldingly into the tight heat, the resistance from his inadequate preparation almost painful but so blindingly _good_ that Will saw stars.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Will muttered, eyes closed as he gradually bottomed out, Hannibal beneath him uttering a litany of curses in Lithuanian that sounded like music. He languidly drew his hips backward before thrusting in again, the head of his cock brushing Hannibal’s prostate before driving in all the way, and ripping cries from both of them simultaneously.

When Will finally opened his eyes again, he found their surroundings had completely shifted. Will no longer had them bent over the desk in Hannibal's office, but over the bed in his old home back in Wolf Trap. Will looked down at both Hannibal and himself, draped in nothing but shadow. Somehow, their well-tailored suits had been lost in the transfer.

Before Will could think too hard on it, Hannibal clenched around, pulling him firmly into the present. Will began to pick up a rhythm, pounding into him steadily, eliciting groans and pants and curses from each of them.

As he was able to regain some semblance of control, Will managed to ask, “My old shack back in Virginia is a room in your memory palace?”

“Of course,” Hannibal breathed, pushing up off the mattress so he was situated on all fours as Will thrust into him. His fingers curled into the old bedsheets as Will gripped him tight enough to leave bruises, one hand on his hip and the other hooked onto his shoulder for leverage. “It is where you lived for years. I once believed it may be the key to fully knowing you, as every inch of it had been basked in your essence. I know better now.”

Hannibal ducked his head, moaning as Will angled his hips downward, now directly hitting the glorious spot inside him with every thrust.

“But I could never forget a single detail of it, even if I wanted to,” Hannibal continued, trying to withstand Will’s relentless stimulation. “It’s where we were the second time you broke my heart.”

Will’s chest seized up as Hannibal’s words hit him, caught off guard by how much they effected him. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t apologize; he wouldn’t mean it. All he could manage was too soothe the painful memory by replacing it with a more pleasant one instead.

“It’s also where I watched you snap Mason Verger’s neck,” Will purred into Hannibal’s ear before pulling out of him. He flipped Hannibal onto his back, spreading his legs wide before sliding back into him effortlessly. He sought purchase with one hand underneath Hannibal’s thigh while slicking up his hand again and wrapping it around Hannibal’s still semi-hard length, working to bring it back to its rigid fullness. “Do you have _any idea_ what that meant to me? _Knowing_ what you were capable of for so long and finally, _finally_ earning your trust enough to witness it?”

Hannibal’s face twisted beneath his pleasure. “Witness, indeed. Had I not left Mason alive, you would’ve not had a victim to refute your eye-witness testimony.”

Will rolled his eyes and thrust harder. “I have a rather vivid, blood-soaked memory of you forgiving me for those transgressions.”

“And you earned that forgiveness,” Hannibal agreed. “Eventually. But had you sought it out when it was first offered, I imagine that night could have had a much different outcome.”

Will blinked, confused, and once again the world shifted.

They were no longer in his old home in Wolf Trap, making love on a twin sized bed, but in a large, stylishly decorated bedroom with an elegant fireplace on the opposite wall of the king sized bed they now found themselves in. Will recognized it immediately, even though he wasn’t meant to.

He’d only laid eyes on this bedroom _after_ Hannibal had left them all for dead and Will had taken to haunting his Baltimore home as a coping mechanism.

Will groaned as he collapsed sideways onto the silk sheets, pulling out and moving to wrap around Hannibal’s side. “Now you’re just rewriting history.”

Hannibal’s spine twisted into the new position, hips tilting vertically and legs angled away from Will while his back remained flat against the plush mattress. Will hooked his head underneath Hannibal’s arm so it rested just below the larger man’s shoulder. It was a complicated, pretzel-like position, but Will had resolved to master it, since it allowed them to both lie down, facing each other while Will still took Hannibal from behind. He was pulling it off much more seamlessly in his imagination than he had ever managed in the real world.

“Perhaps,” Hannibal admitted eventually, shuddering with pleasure as Will slipped back into him. “That does not mean I did not imagine scenarios in which you fell into my bed _before_ we ran away together.”

Will once again picked up the pace, his thrusts shallow but still powerful. He was _so_ _close_. They both were, he could _feel_ it deep inside.

“Even after you discovered I’d deceived you?” Will asked, he reaching down to once again wrap his hand around Hannibal’s length.

“After you broke my heart the first time?” Hannibal nodded, crooking his neck down to place a chaste kiss against Will’s forehead. “Yes. Even then. _Especially_ then.”

Hannibal hummed in satisfaction as Will stroked him with a renewed vigor, bringing his own hand to wrap around Will’s, sharing in the stimulation. His tight hole had long since given way to Will’s cock pounding into him, and he began clenching his muscles to bring them both a delicious new feeling of resistance.

Will groaned out as the layered sensations rocketed through him; the undeniable pleasure of sinking into Hannibal’s heat combined with the echoes of Hannibal’s own gratification, reverberations which Will’s empathy allowed him to access. Will could feel every thrust he gave to Hannibal inside himself, every stroke of their joined hands along Hannibal’s cock as if they were stroking his own at the same time. His pleasure intensified, amplifying exponentially, until he was unable to hold off the orgasm that had been building inside him for God knows how long.

“Oh my _god_ , fuck, Hannibal, _fuck_ , I can’t, I’m gonna-“

He came in unison with Hannibal, his release hitting in time with his final thrust against Hannibal’s prostate. Sparks erupted behind his eyes and he rushed to shut them, losing all sense of time and space and gravity and self, the waves of pleasure overwhelming him completely, his throat becoming raw with the guttural moan that had been ripped from him.

Will was certain he’d never experienced an orgasm quite so intense, which was saying something, given what could be accomplished with his empathy. Had his gift simply overcompensated for the physical distance that lay between him and Hannibal? He wasn’t exactly sure he would be able to handle it if it wrecked him so thoroughly every time they were together. 

“Hannibal, Jesus Christ,” Will panted breathlessly, vocal cords fried.  He threw his head back, a delayed stunned reaction once he registered the firmness of a headrest behind him.

He opened his eyes, the white dots from squeezing them so tightly quickly fading as he surveyed his surroundings. Will was on the plush sofa, back in their mountainside chalet.

He took himself in, realizing that he was alone and stark naked. At some point, his shirt and pyjama bottoms had been shed on the floor. He was sweating profusely and his chest and stomach were streaked with come. His legs were spread wide, feet propped on the couch, one hand wrapped around his softening cock while the other was underneath him, fingers crooking deep inside of himself.

The last part was something he rarely saw the need for during a solo session, but given how mind-shatteringly unreal his orgasm had been, he seriously considered throwing it into the rotation.

“Hannibal?” he called out to the room as he slowly regained the ability to move. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand, trying to focus his brain. “Hannibal, are you still there?”

_How long have I just been talking dirty to myself?_

He was greeted with silence. After he reached down to pull his pyjama bottoms back on and wipe up the come with his shirt, he grabbed his phone off the coffee table. It was then that Will’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Their call had lasted almost two hours, which was itself a surprise to Will. It hadn’t felt nearly that long, but losing time to his imagination was something to which he’d been long accustomed.

No, what had Will genuinely shocked was that the call had been dropped over half an hour ago.

 _There’s no way,_ Will thought frantically. His orgasm had been unbelievably intense, but it couldn’t possibly have knocked him out for _that_ long. For one thing, the come hadn't even been dry.

As soon as the phone buzzed in his hand, he clicked the button to answer it. “Hannibal?”

“I’m sorry, Will,” said the disembodied voice of Hannibal, practically mewling with satisfaction. “It would seem I passed through a cellular dead zone a while back. I did not notice until just now.”

“What was the last thing you heard me say?” Will said, running his hand through his sweat-drenched hair.

Hannibal chuckled, “Well, they were not so much words as they were beautifully melodic moans, but I do believe my name was buried somewhere in their uttering.”

That wasn't helpful. Will groaned. “I asked you a question, and your response was?”

Will could hear delight laced in the notes of Hannibal’s breathy tone. “ _Especially then._ ”

Will sunk back into the sofa, on the edge of disbelief. “No, that’s-“

Will had often been mistaken for a psychic, but despite appearing miraculous to those who didn’t understand it, his empathy was not actually supernatural.

“I told you, Will,” Hannibal mused after a moment met with silence, “Reality is shaped by our perception. Between your gift and my mental discipline, we are uniquely situated to carve out a reality bound only by the limits of our shared imaginations.”

Will was simply stunned. “It’s just…not possible.”

Hannibal’s grin could be heard over the phone. “When have you and I ever been limited by what’s possible?”

Will quirked his brow, considering. He could keep denying what he had experienced. Or he could interpret the evidence, accepting what he intuited, and moving along to the more important questions.

“So,” he said, biting his lip and trying to hold back a smirk. “In what other places have you envisioned us fucking?”

Will’s smile brightened as he heard Hannibal chuckle.

“Your ornate prison cell? My disgusting basement cell? Quantico’s forensic lab?” He gasped, pretending to be scandalized as another delicious location occurred to him. “Bedelia’s _home_? While she's strapped to a chair, totally lucid and forced to watch?”

“Now, now, slow down, dear Will,” Hannibal chided, tutting audibly. “We have a lifetime to explore the darkest recesses of each other's minds. Besides, we must save _something_  for us to pass the time with on my train ride home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm now on tumblr [here](http://illyriashell.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
